James is still hurting over the events of Skyfall, but he finally gets given a mission that may help him heal. Who is that mysterious girl, and what does she know about bombs? Mild language and suggestive scenes. Post-Skyfall fic, DO NOT READ if you haven't watched Skyfall

Hey guys! This is my first Bond story, would really appreciate if you could review it. Emma in the story refers to M3 (M as portrayed by Judi Dench).

Disclaimer - I do not own the James Bond franchise

"If there were no mystery left to explore, life you get rather dull, wouldn't it?" – Sidney Buchman

James leant back in his chair, the mission briefing tossed carelessly back on the desk. He couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face."You seriously want me to infiltrate a base where the woman have to do anything they are told, or they get killed?" he asked M, whose face remained stony."Is that a problem, Bond? We could always find a more willing agent if you feel uncomfortable with this mission," M responded.

James shook his head vehemently."Don't worry, I think I can manage." Bond gave Mallory a winning smile. M's expression did not change."Let's just say it's a test of your self-control, and your persuasive skills," M informed him. "We're positive there's a bomb in that building. Our spies in POHK sent us reports of one being built, and of its intended destination, but lost track of it after its construction was completed. We feel the girls will be your best chance of getting information. They line up to get at you anyway. Hopefully you'll manage to keep your mind on the job at hand, and you might also be able to find out about that chip."

"Gadgets?"

"Q says he has been working on something. If you understand your task, I suggest you get down to him, and over to the POHK base as soon as possible. Oh, and Bond? Try and limit yourself to getting information from one girl. Women do talk to each other, and they'll become suspicious if you ask all of them about a bomb."

"We haven't been able to give you much. A mobile, a radio transmitter that fits inside bow ties, and a gun that responds to your handprint." Q passed them to James, and he examined the transmitter. It was extremely small and round, about the size of a tomato seed. He turned it over and over, but couldn't see how to operate it.

"We control it." Q answered James' unasked question. He nodded, and slipped it inside his jacket pocket, before leaving the room to head to his flat to pack some suits.

James slowly edged the nose of his Aston Martin into the parking space. He still hadn't forgiven Silva for destroying his last one, and as for killing Emma… James thumped the steering wheel with his hand a couple of times, before turning off the ignition and slipping out of his car.

A Chinese man was standing at the back of the car, a fixed smile on his face."Good evening, sir," he warbled. "Welcome to POHK. If you could give me your car keys, and tell me who you are?" James handed over his keys, fishing an ID badge out of his pocket."I'm Bond, from UNARATO. United Nations Armed Resistance Against Terrorism Opposers." The Chinaman's smile finally reached his eyes.

"Ah, Mr Bond. You are just in time for the evening meal. If you would follow me…" James was led between the cars, and up a damp tunnel into a dimly lit room. It had red walls, and a highly polished wooden floor, with golden decorations covering the walls. There was a long table at one end of the room, covered with food, and a string quartet was set up at the opposite end. A clear space was left in the middle of the room, and it was packed with dancers. There were small tables dotted around the room, and James fought his way over to one.

He flopped down into a chair. He hardly had time to take a breath before a girl materialised beside him."Can I get you anything, sir?" she asked. James looked her up and down. She had dark hair, blue eyes, and very fair skin. Mascara and eyeliner accentuated the blueness of her eyes, and her lips were painted cherry red. She was wearing a long-sleeved, ankle-length black dress. The colouring didn't suit her, but it clung to her, revealing her perfect contours and ample cleavage. Bond's eyes rested on this for a few moments, before moving to a white logo on the front of her dress. She was also incredibly short.

"Martini, shaken, not stirred," he replied, smiling at the girl. She bobbed a curtsey, before vanishing into the crowd. James frowned after her. There was something wrong with her, something out of place. He glanced around the room, and was beginning to get suspicious when the girl returned with his drink. She placed it in front of him, and was about to leave when James gestured for her to sit down.

The girl's eyes darted guiltily around the room, before she sank slowly into the chair opposite him."I'm, uh, engaged tonight, sir," she told him, her voice shaking slightly. A lazy smile spread across his face."I can wait," he purred. She paled slightly. James hadn't believed someone could be so white."That actually wasn't what I wanted to ask. Now…" He didn't get to finish his sentence.

A fat, red-faced man with a fluff of white hair on his head came charging across the dance floor."Where's that ghostly beauty?" he barked. James winced, the man's Cockney accent grating on his ears. The man spotted the girl, who had hurriedly jumped to her feet. He made his way over to the table, slapping the girl on the backside. He cast a disparaging eye over James.

"Unlucky, my dear chap. Maybe tomorrow night, eh?" He gave James a sickening smile, before pulling the girl out of the room. Bond watched them go, his eyes narrowed. He looked around the room, nodding gently to himself. All the women with logos on their dresses were oriental. Why, then, was the one who had served him so distinctly, so undeniably, British?

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